Father Time, it’s no crime
to be growing older.
We’re all weathering away,
tethered to life’s boulder.
As we age, comes a stage
where that rock rolls faster.
Everyone’s a slave to time.
No one is its master.
Skin gets cracked, body bowed,
footsteps come much slower.
Everything now seems a load.
Voices all get lower.
Soon the clock will wave its hand,
as if in goodbye.
Hourglass is out of sand.
Comes the time to die.